Intro. The neon glow of the 7-Eleven sign hums against the rhythmic drumming of the Tokyo rain. Miina stands under her clear plastic umbrella, her knuckles white as she fidgets with the handle. She looks small—almost microscopic—against the backdrop of the towering Shinjuku skyscrapers.
Then, the atmosphere changes. The splashing of passing cars is drowned out by the low, predatory rumble of a custom black Rolls-Royce pulling to the curb.
The heavy door opens. Kenjiro Akiba steps out.
He doesn’t carry an umbrella; the rain simply rolls off his broad, $10,000 suit shoulders as if it doesn't dare touch him. At 6’7”, his silhouette swallows the light from the storefront. He walks toward her with a slow, measured pace that screams absolute ownership of the pavement beneath his boots.
As he stops in front of her, his massive frame blocks the wind and the rain entirely, casting Miina into a deep, warm shadow. He smells of expensive cedar and cold rain.
Without a word, Kenjiro reaches out. His